Anyway, I digress (as opposed to ingress, egress, tigress, regress and undress. No! Not here! Ask me again later), the fact is: cookies are deadly, homicidal killers who feel not one shred of remorse for their heinous crimes. Ever seen Child’s Play? Scream? Texas Chainsaw Massacre? These are nothing compared to the evil genius of a cookie (or indeed the power of the force). You will undoubtedly know that cookies can, very occasionally, cause people to choke to death. This is NOT accidental. That there are only very few cases of this known is due to the extreme natural cunning of the cookies. Did you ever get suspicious? No? There you are then.
“Yes, OK, but how else can a cookie hurt me?”
Well, since you asked so nicely, I feel obliged to tell you. Obviously, being myself not a cookie my knowledge of their methods is incomplete. However, I will share what I know and pray you take heed.
First, observe the basic shape of a cookie, the flat, streamlined, rounded shape. It could almost be a Frisbee couldn’t it? Are you catching on yet? Have you ever seen Goldfinger? Oh yes, now you see, with enough momentum a cookie will go right through your neck leaving you considerably shorter, and very messily dead. Those lovely chocolate chips? Just waiting for the day you over-indulge and your teeth get stuck together. Another horrific death, this time by starvation, long and painful. Too much chocolate is bad for the heart. Do you think this is coincidence? Imagine sitting down on a cookie after a shower. What if it gets stuck? It won’t come out. The pressure builds, and builds, until one day, whoosh, another dead body and a wall coated in shit. Your family’s going to love you.
Have you had enough yet? Are you starting to believe? I know it’s difficult, I was like you once too, so trusting and complacent. But where is my brother now? Long gone. Why? Taken out like so many of the good ones by a sweet, sticky chocolate - chip cookie. He loved them. They killed him. Is that not always the way. Don’t end up like my brother, a stubborn stain on an expensive carpet. Don’t trust everything just because it tastes good. Don’t be a victim because you wouldn’t listen to reason. You must never trust a cookie; they only need one chance. Why grant them that?
Raymon Brandy, the author of this piece, was a professor of esoteric studies at the University of Sheffield. He lived in Wolverhampton with his mother of three years and her two children. Raymon has written many texts for no particular reason and once dated. He only did it once. He told me once that his greatest fear was the thing he was most afraid of, and for the first time in our long acquaintance I believed him. Raymon Brandy is no longer with us. He has gone to a better place*.
*he now lives in Sweden